A Musing
by Luscious
Summary: H? Kinda AU to start. Harry and company are Muses, so anything can happen! More fun than it sounds. Rating has been lowered, because it's kinda fluffy for now, but rating may go up. Wow, summaries are hard! MM,AU,Slash
1. Monotony is the mind killer

I do not own Quizno's, any slice of the Harry Potter Pie, or the Charlie Daniels Band, although it would be fun wouldn't it? Please don't sue, it's just me and my hamster and I don't want to put her out in the cold for not paying rent.

My very first story ever! squee! Kinda AU depending on you look at it, just a friendly warning to diehard canon fans. This was originally intended to be a one shot and somehow morphed into two parts. Damn the Muses! Using my own story against me! #blah# are Harry's thoughts. Anyhoo, feedback is welcome, please be gentle! Read on!

Harry Potter sat in his office chair twirling his wand lazily in his hand. His eyes continuously drifted to his inbox, which had remained empty most of the morning. He knew instinctively that the emptiness would not last.

"Bored…bored…bored…boooored…I'm so very, very bored," He chanted under his breath. Eventually, (and seemingly against his will) it had morphed into a full jingle, complete with head bopping, shoulder shimmy, a guitar solo, and his wand as a makeshift drumstick.

Finally, when it seemed as though his imaginary audience had grown restless and begun to stage dive, he set his wand on the desk, sighed and let his head fall back. His eyes fell shut and he groaned slightly, Maybe I should take a nap…yes, that would be nice.

Life wasn't so bad being a Muse, (when it wasn't boring of course). He got to go on many a great adventure, got to get it on with some fine ladies, and still be home for dinner. Ok, so that wasn't true. Muses didn't technically have homes… unless a story called for it. They were figments of the imagination. Harry felt real enough to himself, but he knew he wasn't _exactly_ real. Now, before you go feeling all bad for Harry, you should know the whole story….

The Muses all spent most of their time in 'The Office', an enormous complex without any real limits. No one was really sure how big it was, because once you were in it, it seemed to span into forever. The Muses could leave the building and wander off if they felt like it, but it was strongly discouraged, because without the characters, stories couldn't be written, resulting in writer's block and a whole _mess_ of paperwork for the higher-ups in The Office.

There was a terrible hiccup in the system six months ago when one Mr. Draco Malfoy meandered out for a veggie sub from Quiznos and didn't return for three days. (#haha that _was_ pretty funny! You should have seen the look on...#) hush Harry I'm telling a story! (#oh.. sorry.#)

Anyway, the characters spend most of their time in The Office waiting for the mail room to send up the duplicate copies of the plot bunnies (the originals having been placed in the authors head, sometimes to their great dismay), then as soon as the author caves, they high tail it over to the setting of the story and wait for direction.

Each character has his or her own office and living quarters (which are quite posh) and can go anywhere in the building they wish. So, just so you know, Harry isn't locked in a tiny office room somewhere for eternity—because we don't need the police showing up to The Office again after—(#That was something wasn't it? When Remus went mental and...#) _Harry! _Telling. A. Story. (#oh… right.#)

Glad you brought that up though Harry, I almost forgot to mention that characters are bound to their original forms while in The Office. Meaning, anyone from Harry Potter world can do magic and have memory of their 'real past'—meaning the novels. Imagine the mess when Spike from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer wing and Lucious Malfoy got into down by the water cooler last Monday. Whew… what a mess. Anyway, I hope I didn't confuse you… carry on Harry.

Yes well… Harry shifted into a more comfortable position and began to doze slightly. #Just a tiny little nap never hurt anyone, and it's not as though anyone checks on...# A violent fiddle riff caused him to sit upright suddenly.

"_Devil went down to Georgia, he was looking for a soul to steal; he was in a bind cause he was way behind, and he was lookin to make a deal…"_

Things had begun rattling off Harry's desk. His picture of Ron and Hermione, despite their desperate attempts to push against the edge of the frame and stay on the desk, toppled over before Harry could reach it. He snatched it up off the floor and made sure the glass wasn't broken before he put it back on the desk, a little rougher than he intended. Picture Ron, looked a bit dizzy, but Picture Hermione was standing firmly with her arms crossed glaring at the ceiling (and source of the humming music) right along with Harry.

He pushed back against the desk and let the rollers on his chair carry him over to the corner, his eyes never leaving the ceiling. He grasped the four foot wooden stick that resided there, and slowly rolled back to the desk with his teeth bared, as if stalking an imaginary prey somewhere near the lighting fixture. He stood and wrapped his hands around the bottom of the stick, holding it like a baseball bat. Then, without further preamble he rammed the other end into the ceiling as hard as he could.

Picture Ron covered his ears, but Picture Hermione just looked smugly at Harry, then the ceiling, as if giving her approval.

"SEVERUS! ENOUGH ALREADY!" Harry cried, wailing on the ceiling a few more times before lowering the stick and looking about wildly. He spotted his wand lying forgotten on the desk and cackled. He seized it and pointed it resolutely at the ceiling, for a moment fully planning to send Snape to ask the devil about the weather in Georgia _personally_. A bouncing and waving Picture Hermione distracted him, and he lowered the wand, knowing she was right. Hexing and cursing was strictly forbidden in the office building. Something about not paying that much for emergency medical care, oh, and it had, a few times in the past, set off the sprinkler system.

Instead he turned the wand on himself and cast the Sonorous charm. His voice now undoubtedly echoed through not only Snape's office, but the rest of the building. "SEVERUS! I'M NOT LISTENING TO THAT FOR ANOTHER EIGHT HOURS, LIKE YESTERDAY! SHUT IT DOWN BEFORE I TELL EVERYONE WHAT YOU SAID TO ME AT THE HOLIDAY PARTY!" He distinctly heard a needle scratch on a record, then blessed silence.

He fell back into his chair with an exhausted grin on his face, feeling as though he was some great gladiator that had just won a match. He cast the Quietus charm then looked down at his Pictured friends and saw that, since there was no paper in the picture, Picture Hermione had taken out some form of lipstick and had written on the stomach of (a very much embarrassed) Picture Ron Weasley, "_What did he say at the party?"_ The "y" dipping dangerously close to Ron's danger zone and it looked as though that thought hadn't escaped him as he batted Hermione's hands away.

Harry grinned at the both of them, "Never you mind," he said. Hermione huffed and turned away from Harry, seeming interested in the same tree that had been in that picture since last year, when it was taken. Ron on the other hand was furiously scrubbing at his stomach with his sleeve.

In all the excitement, he hadn't realized that his inbox now had four envelopes in it, and as he watched, a fifth appeared with a pop. He clapped his hands together in excitement, and grabbed the small stack. He reversed the order (first come, first served) and ripped open the first envelope. He read the header, "Harry/Hagrid NC-17 Slash—" and promptly dropped it on the ground sliding it under his desk with his shoe. When he looked up, Picture Hermione was glaring at him.

"What 'Mione? I'm not about to get into that today. Remember the last slash story I starred in with Hagrid? I believe it involved fire whiskey, rock cakes, and a creature called a Gurkle," he leaned closer to the frame, "how's that mental picture?" he asked the horrified little snapshot.

"Sooooo," he said dramatically, "since I'm only allowed one veto a week, it seems like we have a winner!" He opened the envelope and read the header, then promptly dropped his head to the desk, causing Ron and Hermione to teeter a little again before tumbling over the edge of the desk.

"Son of a—"

TBC


	2. Just when you thought it was safe to go ...

Once again, I own no part of the Harry Potter Pie, and my hamster is a dead beat. I've hit her up for rent twice now and she just runs in her wheel and pretends like she doesn't hear me. So please don't sue.

Part two is dedicated to kvk, who was the first person to review. Thank you kvk! Maybe this part will make you smile. ;)

Also big thanks to Athena-Quicksilver, and JustMe for reviewing!

This chapter is a long time coming. Reason being—when I first tried to upload it, my computer crashed and it was lost, so I had to rewrite it! UGH! Also, remember that rubbish about two parts? Yeah, right! They refuse to let me finish it! We'll see how many parts it actually becomes… I'm guessing about four.

Once again #blah# are thoughts, and the random explosion of zeros a break in time. Feedback is welcome. Read on!

Chapter 2

On the fourteenth floor of The Office, someone else happened to be reading their e-mail inbox at almost the exact same moment. There followed a similar half uttered curse and smashing of a forehead into a desk.

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Harry lifted his head off the desk, the letter stuck to his forehead.

"This is so bloody unfair," he moaned, causing the paper to flutter a little. He reached up and yanked the paper off his head, and held it at arms length, as if it was something poisonous that may turn at any moment (and this time Parseltongue would do him no good). He reread the header, willing it to change merely from the power of thought. No such luck.

He looked up, and opened his mouth to bitch to his pictured friends about his rotten luck. His eyes widened and he snapped his mouth shut with a look of bewilderment. #What the…# His eyes darted around the desk before glancing at the floor. He smiled slightly at seeing his friends staring up at him, both looking rather disgruntled. Picture Hermione's mouth was moving so fast it was nearly a blur, and he realized that Picture Ron's angry look towards him was not a result of the actual fall, but rather from listening to Hermione's rant.

"Sorry guys," he sighed as he picked up the frame, once again looking it over for cracks before setting it on the desk.

Picture Hermione picked herself up quickly and dusted off her robes in short bursts of hand movement, eyes never leaving Harry's and her mouth never stopping. Picture Ron seemed quite content to stay seated on the ground, not wanting to cause any movement that would remind Hermione he was there. He did however provide Harry with a questioning look.

Harry held the paper up to the frame, allowing his friends to see exactly what was written. Hermione's mouth snapped shut, and her eyes widened. Ron gave Harry a sympathetic look, then proceeded to turn what looked suspiciously like a guffaw into a hearty coughing fit.

"Thanks for the support, mate," Harry said, narrowing his eyes at Ron.

He stood from the desk and stretched his arms up over his head. #I wonder if I have time for a snack…# With one last longing look at his photographic friends (he had never before wished to be made of paper, until the moment he opened that letter,) he pocketed his wand and headed out the door

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The dining area was reminiscent of the Great Hall, except much larger, and broken up into hundreds of little tables. Ok, so it wasn't like the Great Hall at all, more like an enormous food court in a mall.

The tables were grouped together in sets of four, and each set reflected the style of a different fandom. Of course, it was very easy for Harry to find the section for his folk… not hard to spot a group of heavy wood tables with a cluster of candles floating overhead.

He edged his way over, with the pumpkin juice seeming to call his name. On the way he passed by a set of high gloss, metal tables. Sitting around them were several people in black clothing, shiny leather and just one too many trench coats for Harry's taste. Each one wore a pair of sunglasses, #Bit odd to be wearing those indoors, if you ask me…. Ah, Muggles…# and they were huddled together conspiratorially. As he passed, one of them looked up. The man studied Harry for a moment before speaking.

"You have the look of a man who accepts what he sees because he is expecting to wake up," he said in a deep and wise voice, "Ironically, that's not far from the truth."

"Ah, yes, well, I'll keep that in mind," Harry replied awkwardly while doing his best to hustle away. After Harry had spoken a handful of 'pardon me's and one 'hey hey! Hands to yourself,' he finally plunked down next to the flesh and blood version of Ronald Weasley.

"All right there, Harry," he asked while stuffing in a mouthful of pudding, "saw one of the Matrix blokes chatting you up, what's that about?"

"Dunno, he was either trying to give me some random advice, or trying to get me to take that damned red pill again," Harry said while ladling obscene amounts of stew onto his plate.

They ate together in relative silence before Harry slyly slipped his letter onto the table in front of Ron.

Ron was then saved from choking by a fellow from two tables over.

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After ten solid minutes of commotion, Ron was breathing on his own again, and back sitting next to Harry. He stared at the side of Harry's face, his face a mixture of shock, slight embarrassment, a little anger, but overall—mirth.

Harry ignored him and continued eating, after muttering a quick thanks to Mr. Sparrow for saving Ron's life. (Captain, lad, _Captain_ Sparrow.)

After several bites, chewed perhaps a little more stiff and carefully than normal, he turned to Ron angrily. "Is there a problem?" he spat.

The dam finally broke, and Ron cackled like a schoolgirl.

Harry stared at him in disbelief, "I can't believe you think this is funny! It's horrible!"

Ron released a few more bursts of giggles before wiping his eyes and sighing. "The situation is the worst it could be, but the look on your face," more giggles, "the look on your face is worth a hundred chocolate frogs!" He broke down again in full gales of laughter.

"Thanks a lot Ron, glad to know you're on my side," he stood up angrily, "I should have just let you choke!" With that he turned and stomped out of the dining hall, stepping over Ron in the process, who was now on the floor rolling and holding his sides.

TBC….

A/N: I promise the next chapter will be out sooner than this one. Also, I thought Ron would be angry, but he wouldn't hear of it. He thought it was a riot and a half. R n R please!


	3. Scripts, Outlines, and Indexes

Hello all! I'm back a little later than I expected, but I promise, I'm going to try to update one story a week. Ok, promise is a really strong word… but I'll try.

This chunk be dedicated to JustMe, I promise the teasing will soon end.

There is that 'p' word again!

Anyway, still own no Harry Potter Pie… not even a crumb, still have nothing but a cheap-ass hammie. Oh, I also don't own Metabolife or Lemon Fresh Pine Sol. Well… I own one bottle of each, but I doubt that gives me copyright privileges. So, please sue me not!

#blah# are Harry's thoughts, and random 0000000's are time breaks. R & R I beg of you, and read on!

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Chapter 3

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Harry burst out of the dining area in a flurry, slamming the door into the wall in the process. #Laugh at _me_ will you?# He stormed his way down the corridor, squeezing himself against the wall occasionally to avoid passing mail carts, the last of which ran over his foot.

After a moment or two of hissed swearing at the rapidly retreating cart, and careful Lamaze breathing, he attempted to resume storming. Head down, arms swinging, he had hobbled all of five steps when he ran squarely into a leather-clad torso. He barely had time to register the collision, much less look up or apologize, when he found himself squished against the wall with a blade at his throat.

Moving as if standing front and center in a tiger's cage, Harry carefully glanced up at his attacker. Standing before him was a slightly grubby, very paranoid human.

"Moses on a muffin, Aragorn! You scared the life out of me!" he cried, pushing angrily against the man's chest. "Are you on Metabolife again? I'm pretty sure Management told you to lay off those, thanks to your last little jitters-induced maiming."

Aragorn drew back his sword and resheathed it. Just over his shoulder Harry could see a blond elf lowering an arrow that had previously been aimed for his forehead. Harry huffed in indignant rage, "You too, Legolas? For Merlin's sake, you two could've killed me! Although I can't say I'm really surprised _you're_ here; don't you two _ever_ leave each other's side?" Aragorn and Legolas exchanged a pointed look but said nothing more on the matter.

"Our apologies, Harry the Green, we mistook you for the enemy," Aragorn said, bowing absurdly low, one hand over his heart. Legolas did the same.

Harry looked down at the green shirt he was wearing, "Listen, mates, I've told you before… yes, I'm a wizard, but the color I'm wearing has nothing to do with…oh just forget it." It was never any use to get into these type of conversations with characters from other stories. It only led to a lot of confusion and accusations of madness. Besides, it was kind of worth not correcting them sometimes, like when last week Pippin had called him "Harry the uh… Periwinkle."

After a much longer moment than necessary, Aragorn stood up again and turned to Legolas. He spoke fluidly to the elf in a language Harry didn't understand. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. #I hate it when they do this! It's not as though Legolas can't speak common!# As a matter of fact, Legolas set the record for the best language test score the Office ever had. (To avoid pesky issues like language differences in crossover stories, the Management decided it best if every character learn a 'common' language. If they don't pass the language test, they don't get written. Tests are held every Thursday night in suite 2B, if you're interested.)

"Ok, that's it! Enough out of both of you!" Harry bellowed, "Apology accepted, now if you'd excuse me, I have a story to get to." He waved his arms around in one last display of anger, and thankfully both Aragorn and Legolas had the decency to look sheepish. Harry whirled around and tromped down the hallway, all pain in his foot forgotten for the time being.

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Harry found himself outside of the office of Scripts, Outlines, and Indexes about a half an hour later. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

It was similar to being down on the trading floor on Wall Street. Machines for miles were buzzing and ticking, shooting out page after page of stories. A long row of counters, with the laughable sign of 'customer service' hung slightly askew above it separated Harry from hundreds of people scurrying about, collecting, collating, stapling, and copying. A steady pile of finished scripts were piled on a large desk behind the counters. Behind each section of counter was a weary looking person trying half heartedly to accomplish, well… anything really. Dozens of characters, some Harry recognized, some he didn't, were clustered together in little groups around the room. They all were holding recently acquired scripts, and either celebrating the contents, or grumbling to each other about what the fates had handed them.

He walked up to the only available counter and looked at the name plate. "Hullo there, uh, Lance," he squinted at the plate, "is that Bass like the fish or Bass like the instrument?" he asked with a smile.

The blond haired man behind the counter narrowed his eyes at him, "Never even heard of me have you?" he asked bitterly.

"Uh, well, I spend a lot of time in a cupboard," he said in a placating tone. He had heard horror stories of desk workers going ballistic in the Office and didn't really fancy being a statistic.

"Yeah, well I _used_ to be in a boy band. I starred in a hundred stories a week. A week! Then that little mop head Justin just _had_ to go fucking solo! You know what happens to characters who don't have stories to star in? They get stuck with desk jobs! They get to deal with jerks like you! They get to be on their feet for eight hours and eat their lunch in a room the size of a cigarette pack! They get to smell like toner when they go home, and they get to listen to stupid questions! So, it's not like you really care or anything, but it's BASS like the _FISH_, your highness!"

By the time he had finished his rant, he was nearly lying on the counter, his face inches away from Harry's. Then just as quickly as the rage had started, it was gone. He slid back down to a standing position and asked, "Name, story universe and genre please."

Harry, still wide eyed and trying to control his breathing, managed to squeak out, "Harry Potter, Harry Potter, and uh… romance." His hand twitched in reflex to grab his wand in defense, and only an ingrained sense of self preservation stopped him (because rest assured my friends, Management was much worse than a boy band member scorned.)

Lance Bass (like the fish), turned away and dug through the pile of scripts. While he was turned Harry couldn't help but notice that no one in the room had appeared the least bit surprised at Lance's hateful outburst, and he made a mental note to never ever speak to the man again. At just that moment, Lance turned back to him, and Harry plastered on a fake smile.

"Here you are Mr. Potter. Forty six pages of pure smut with you as the lucky star. Enjoy it while it lasts because you'll never know when one of your costars will grow a pair and decide he's sooooooooo much better than..." but before he could finish Harry had snatched the script and was well on his way out the door.

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Harry read over the script, huddled in the corner of one of the conference rooms. As he turned each page his face got more and more scrunched in distaste, until by page forty six he looked like he was trying desperately to keep down a half a bottle of Lemon Fresh Pine Sol.

#Ok, readers# Harry thought desperately, #if you just stop reading right now, this script never has to be acted!# Hey! Don't tell them that! #Stay out of this! This is between me and them!#

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Half an hour found Harry in front of Studio 39D, script firmly in hand. He had pleaded for fifteen minutes for you all to stop reading, but that has all been removed for your reading pleasure. He then paced for fifteen minutes, cussing and going over and over the script.

Harry leaned his head against the door, firmly imprinting 39D backwards on his forehead. He took a deep breath and entered the studio. It was fairly quiet, the all the set was built and ready to go, as it always was, although Harry never saw a construction crew.

He walked over to the catering table and poured himself a paper cup of pumpkin juice. Taking a long sip, he nearly sprayed half of it out his nose when heard someone behind him.

"About time you got here, I thought I was going to have to act this one all by myself."

TBC…. sorry, last time I leave you in the dark, I promise! THE 'P' WORD AGAIN! Any guesses on who Harry's costar is, I'm sure many of you know. #wink# Please please please review!


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